Gone When The Morning Comes
by slytherin-until-i-die
Summary: A collection of fluffy Dramione drabbles/one-shots. ACCEPTING PROMPTS!
1. Mirror

**Hey guys! Okay, right, I know what you're going to say. But I promise, I AM STILL WRITING MY OTHER DRAMIONE STORY, **_**FINDING MY WINGS**_**! I understand how you feel. I know how bloody annoying it is when writers on here take forever to update! My life is so hectic right now, I feel like if I force myself to write quickly it'll be rushed and never as good as it would be if it just came spontaneously and in plenty of time. When school finishes for Christmas, I promise to get on with it.**

**So, for now, until I can really knuckle down and write a decent chapter of **_**Finding My **_**Wings, as a kind of apology bribe, how does this collection of Dramione one-shots sound to you?**

**This is mainly an outlet for my boredom and creativity. I'm accepting prompts for one-shots, if you're giving them! At the moment I'm using an online random word generator – maybe you guys will be slightly more imaginative?**

**REVIEW ME, Y'ALL.**

/

Prompt: 'mirror'

Title:_ Reflection_

Word count: 834

Hermione Granger caught sight of her reflection in the floor-length mirror as she went to leave her bedroom at Malfoy Manor and slowed to a halt, momentarily distracted, allowing the thick patchwork duvet she carried in her arms to drift to the ground and land in a heap at her feet. Her jaw fell slack and, for a moment, the world around her fell silent, the hues fading from Technicolor to greyscale between blinks. The sound of the television downstairs quietened and blurred before disappearing entirely, and the multi-faceted three-dimensionality of her life seemed to bitterly flatten out before her eyes.

The person staring back at her from within the gilded golden frame was not Hermione Granger. No, Hermione Granger was bright-eyed, blasé and unruffled – even if something was going on in her usually perfectly ordered private life, she preferred to condense it down, seal it up and lock it away somewhere deep within the confines of her avid mind where books, parchment and revision timetables would be sure to stifle it, denying it oxygen and passageway to the outside world. It was rare for Hermione to let a problem become a genuine burden, and nigh on extraordinary for it to even begin to register on her appearance. But the girl in the reflection, the girl staring back at her today, wasn't the customary Hermione Granger.

Her usually vivid, clear, chocolate-brown eyes were cloudy and tense, the pale skin around them shrouded with the purplish, bruise-like ghosts of a poor night's sleep. The copper-and-russet tresses that hung down her back were matted and lacklustre – she quickly pulled a hand through the tips in a fruitless attempt to untangle them slightly. She stepped back from the mirror and gazed down at the rest of her body. Her limbs seemed thin and distorted from the angle at which she stood, contrasting strangely with her stomach, which was, as usual at the moment, bloated. It was the first time she had properly taken a look at herself since falling into her 'current condition', and Hermione gasped and tugged up the hem of her v-neck, running a hand over the pale planes of skin and becoming very aware of the unevenly-shaped surface. Bile rose in her throat, and a sharp acidic taste flooded her mouth. _You look hideous, _she told herself stupidly. _You're letting yourself go. He's never going to want you if you keep on like this._

"Disgusting," she whispered, her fingertips brushing the surface of the mirror.

And with that, Hermione felt a pair of hands sliding around her waist from behind, a pair of eyes boring into the back of her head, a pair of lips caressing the soft skin at her neck.

"You're wrong," Draco murmured, feathering light kisses from her collarbone to the edge of her jaw. Hermione closed her eyes and gradually released the breath she had been holding for what felt like many minutes. Her limbs and body lightened, her shoulders sank and relaxed, and her hand found its way to her fiancé's alabaster cheek.

When her eyes reopened, the girl looking back at her had returned to her normal self. Her chocolate orbs were glowing once more, streaks of colour had blossomed fervently across her face and her skin seemed to be incandescently lit from beneath. The corners of her full lips turned up slightly. Draco's hands came to rest at her hips, and his steely grey eyes gazed into hers in the mirror.

"Everything about you is beautiful, Hermione Jean Granger," Draco murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. "And I can't believe how long it took me to realise it."

"You don't see your_self _very clearly," she said, turning her head to face him, her perfectly sculpted eyebrows pulling together. "You're quite beautiful too."

Draco laughed once, a quiet, musical sound, before turning to face the mirror once more and resting his chin on the top of Hermione's head. He too lifted the hem of her sweater and stroked the skin there, protruding slightly, gracefully, over the top of her jeans. He raised her hands and held them to her stomach beneath his. "Well," he began, a contented smile on his face. "With our impressive gene bank, there is no way on this Earth that _she _isn't going to be beautiful."

They stood completely still, hands resting on Hermione's stomach, so still that she could feel their steady hearts beating in time with one another.

"I hope she has her mother's brain," he commented lightly. "I won't have her coming second in class at Hogwarts to, say, a _Weasley _child. Imagine, the horror!"

They both laughed happily, images of painting nurseries and shopping for baby clothes in Diagon Alley flashing through their minds. Hermione turned around, letting her sweater fall back into place before wrapping her arms around Draco's neck and toying absently with a strand of his silky, sugar-blonde hair.

"Your hair, though," murmured Hermione, teasing it with her fingers. "She's got to have her daddy's hair."

/

**So that's it for the first one! I'll probably update this quite a lot, haha. Let me know what you think!**


	2. Request

Prompt: 'request'

Title: _Proposals_

Word Count: 685

/

Draco sat down opposite his mother and father at the shining mahogany dining table that sat in the centre of the Manor's breakfast room and folded his hands in his lap, biting his lip nervously. As he sucked in and sharply released a gulp of air, his parents' eyes met briefly, amusedly, before returning to his, expectant expressions adorning their shadowy faces. The baroque candelabra that hung from the high ceiling cast dark shapes across the cavernous room, throwing his mother and father's facial features into relief. What with the gloom of Malfoy Manor's breakfast room and the subject matter he knew he could simply not avoid any longer, Draco had never been more terrified of his parents at any point during his entire twenty-two-year-long life. The deafening silence was painful against his ear drums, so he sighed and opened his mouth to speak.

"Draco," his mother said softly, cutting across him. "We know what this is about."

"Do you?" Draco asked in surprise, requiring confirmation. Realising his mouth was hanging open, he made a conscious effort to grit his teeth and straightened up in his seat. He cleared his throat. "Ah, well. That's excellent. It's settled, then."

"Not necessarily, Draco," began his father icily, his silver-blonde eyebrows shooting up. "There is much we need to discuss before your mother and I make our decision. As you've probably guessed, we are not happy about this."

"What do you mean, you're 'not happy about it'? It's only a ring! I thought you'd _want_ it to be passed down through the generations as a Malfoy family heirloom." He frowned, his grey eyes wide with disbelief.

His mother turned her head dutifully to face Lucius, whose jaw had fallen slack in response to his son's last admittance.

"What on earth are you talking about? What ring?" his father demanded curtly, leaning across the sleek table toward Draco. "We thought you'd called us here to ask whether or not we'd permit you to marry that _Granger _girl you've become ridiculously infatuated with." He spat Hermione's name as though it were a dirty word.

"_Permission_?" Draco seethed, incensed. "Oh, no, Father. I had no intention of asking your _permission _to marry anybody."

Narcissa gasped, her dark eyes wide.

Lucius blanched. "But what... I don't quite understand..."

"I didn't ask you to come here so that I could ask for your _blessing_. In fact, I don't care for your opinion at all on the matter. Hermione Granger makes me happier than anyone ever has before, and she and I _are _getting married next summer. She is going to be my wife, and I'm afraid that issue isn't subject to negotiation."

His father's chair shot back from the table and Lucius stood up, his face reddening with anger.

"There is no way on this Earth that my grandson... the _Malfoy heir_... will be the product of a ludicrous teenage romance with a... a... a Mudblood!" He slammed his fist down on the table. "Your relationship with that girl has gone far enough." He wheeled around, his long hair falling over his shoulder. "We'll discuss this later," he muttered, before hurling himself from the room and slamming the heavy door behind him.

With his father safely out of earshot, Draco sighed, reached across the table and held on tightly to his mother's trembling hand. "I don't know how you put up with him, Mother, I really don't."

"Nor do I, sometimes," she responded gently, rubbing circles soothingly into the side of Draco's hand with her thumb. They sat in silence for a moment, their breathing falling into perfect rhythm, before Narcissa drew her hand back into her lap underneath the table. She laughed once and placed her hand back on top of the wood a minute later. Draco's brow furrowed as he noticed his mother now lacked the multi-faceted majorite engagement ring that had previously adorned her finger.

"Mother, what..."

"Make her happy, Draco," his mother told him, a false note of sternness in her voice, as she pushed the delicate, magnificent ring across the table toward him. "Make her dreams come true."

/

**REVIEW OR DIE.**


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